


The Pendulum Swings

by hunters_retreat



Series: The Pendulum Swings [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean goes with Sam to Stanford, John's POV, Spin-Off Series, Stanford Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-18
Updated: 2010-09-18
Packaged: 2018-09-16 13:43:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9274604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hunters_retreat/pseuds/hunters_retreat
Summary: What the hell was his oldest thinking?





	

**Author's Note:**

>   Yes, this will be a new verse, focusing on John Winchester and what happens to him when Sam says he's going to Stanford, based on [The Clock Verse](http://hunters-retreat.livejournal.com/38112.html) AU.  Written for [](http://devon99.livejournal.com/profile)[devon99](http://devon99.livejournal.com/) who prompted me with _"john watching the boys drive away or john when Dean hits him"_ As soon as I saw that prompt I knew I really wanted to do some exploration of the man I made John into so this is just the first of the verse to come!! 

 

_“You get out then Sam, but once you’re gone, don’t come back.”_

Sam took a step back, flinching but it was Dean’s voice that sounded beaten. “Dad, you don’t mean that.”

“Like Hell I don’t. You’ve been looking after him for years and this is how he repays you? I mean every word Dean. He goes now, and we write him off completely.”

“Dad…”

Sam opened his mouth to speak but Dean spun quickly, stopping his brother. “Get your things Sammy. Get them in the car. It’s time to go before anyone else does anything stupid.”

 

 

Stupid, well that was one way to look at it. John Winchester wasn’t afraid to look down the barrel of a gun and he wasn’t afraid to take a demon head on. He wasn’t afraid of ghouls or banshees or the god damned fey who like to steal human children. When he’d looked at Dean’s face though, he’d known fear.

It wasn’t happening the way it was supposed to at all damn it! He’d known about Stanford for two weeks. Two weeks, waiting for Sam to drop the fat envelope in his lap and tell him he was going. That part went right as he thought it would, Sam pushing and poking and making himself almost unbearable.

Dean tried to get between them, same as always, trying to mediate a fight that he had no chance of winning. Sam continued to push and Dean continued to push back at both of them. He could see the pain in Dean’s eyes as he gave Sam the ultimatum, he could see it in both of them as they came to an unnatural stillness.

John had always trusted his instinct and right then and there he knew something was about to go wrong. It wasn’t until Sam was walking his bags out to the Impala that he understood just how wrong.

Dean stood between them the whole time, making sure John didn’t have a chance at grabbing his youngest, though honestly John was done with him. He loved his boys, he did, but that boy could try a saint’s patience and no one had ever called John a saint. He didn’t know how Dean was able to deal with the mood swings and the constant string of needs and complaints but he fielded it far better than John so he generally left it at that.

Sam was barely three steps out the door before Dean finally spoke. “You didn’t mean what you said Dad. I’m gonna take Sam to the diner by the bus stop. When you calm down enough, come over and say your real good byes so he knows he can come home.”

John could normally read Dean’s moods just by the tone of his voice, but nothing about Dean was running its usual course tonight. Dean wasn’t supposed to let Sam go. Dean was supposed to bring his brother around, to make him see why he couldn’t go, how dangerous and wrong it was. He was supposed to remind Sam what it meant to be a family, to have each other’s backs and to know they were going into the fight together. Hell, if Sam couldn’t accept it he was no good to them anyway. He’s just get them all killed, so yeah, he meant it when he said stay gone. What the hell was his oldest thinking?

“I meant what I said Dean. All we have is family and if Sam can just walk away, well he isn’t family anymore. Drop him off at the bus if you want, but we’ll be leaving in the morning for Iowa.”

“You stupid, sorry, son of a bitch,” Dean swore.

John didn’t think before he lashed out, fist connecting with Dean’s nose. He’d put up with a lot of nonsense from his boys, but he didn’t brook that sort of disrespect. His boy didn’t try to back away from it and to John’s surprise Dean took the hit and countered. John ducked under the blow but he didn’t see the next fist coming. It came from nowhere, driven by passion and fear, and John was knocked back a step. It was enough to send him toppling over the back of the chair.

He sat there, stunned for a moment, watching Dean slam through the house. He came back a minute later, blood dripping from his nose with two bags in hand, one for his belongings and the other his weapons. Dean never really unpacked, no matter that they’d been living in a rental house for the last two months. At five years hold, he’d learned the hard way, his favorite teddy bear lost in a quick run when CPS had come too close to taking his boys from him back in the early days.

“Bobby’s right. Family don’t end in blood,” Dean looked over his shoulder at John, standing in front of the screen door, “and yours didn’t end in fire. When you’re ready to remember who your family really is, you know how to get in touch with me.”

“Where are you going Dean?” John asked as he forced himself up to his feet.

“I won’t desert my brother just because you can’t accept who he is. When you’re ready to talk call us. We’ll be at Stanford.”

Dean didn’t give him a chance to say anything, just strolled out the door like he could just walk away from a lifetime of training and hunting. John knew he couldn’t. His oldest boy was a hunter through and through. Sam was good when he was on the ball but he’d always been too selfish for the job. Dean had the potential to be the best hunter John had ever seen. He’d be back.

He walked to the door and stepped out, one hand rubbing over his jaw where Dean had hit him. He watched as Dean threw his bag in the trunk of the Impala along side Sam’s. Dean didn’t spare him another look as he got in the front, the door slamming shut beside him.

The car started up a minute later and was spitting gravel in its wake as Dean and Sam took off down the road. The night was calm around him, the neighbors too far away to hear their argument and the house was isolated from the small town they’d stayed in while Sam finished off high school.

He could hear the crickets in the backyard if he listened close enough and the stars seemed to be too bright. His truck was in the driveway and it’d never looked so big before, so empty as it did sitting there without the Impala at its side.

Damn it. He’d planned on sending Sam and Dean down to Kentucky in the morning to take care of a ghost. He’d have to call Bobby back and tell him he was short handed until Dean came back.

He went back into the house and grabbed a beer, setting down in the recliner. He took a long pull from the bottle and let his head rest back on the chair. The house was too quiet without the boys there, but John knew it wouldn’t take long for him to adjust. He’d always been good like that.

He downed half the bottle in his next drink and he shook his head in anger, jumping out of the chair and into the kitchen for something more to drink. Beer wasn’t enough tonight. He was too angry to deal with the emptiness.

After a few shots of tequila he was a mess, anger turning to hurt and hurt turning into heartbreak as he went around the house collecting the remnants of his boys that had been left in the wake of their hurried departure. He fell asleep on the couch, sobbing his loneliness and failure into the cushions.

When he woke the next morning only two things remained, a deep seeded anger at the way his boys has left him, and a box of remains that John kept in the car, a reminded that family wasn’t always forever.

The pendulum swung in the hallway, the clock ticking time as if nothing had happened, as if it hadn’t just witnessed his family being ripped apart. John looked at the picture in his wallet and sighed. It was just another thing to lay at the demon’s feet on the day they met.

 


End file.
